A Woman at Bay; Or, A Fiend in Skirts

by Nicholas Carter

Without a word, the man sank back upon the pillow, apparently not in the least alarmed now, and evidently believing that the person who had entered his room was only another like himself, who, having gotten into some sort of trouble, was fleeing from his pursuers; and by all precedents, if the man was pursued to that room, it would be infinitely better for its permanent occupant to appear to be still sleeping soundly, than to have any of the aspect of a confederate, and so he closed his eyes again as if he were still alone.

Nick waited a moment at the door, listening for sounds outside, and while he stood there he heard the hall door from the street open, and presently close again, and he could distinguish the tramping of feet along the hall as several persons passed to the rear of the house, evidently on their way to the saloon again.

As soon as these noises had ceased, he knew that he was for the moment at least safe from pursuit. He piled other things against the door, and then deliberately crossed the room to the lamp and turned it up, after which he strode over to the bedside.

"Now, my friend," he said to its occupant, "I'll have to ask you to wake up for about three minutes."

"All right," was the simple response. "What do you want? Who are you, anyway? And what in blazes do you mean by bursting into my room in this way?"

"First," said Nick, "I want to know who you are, and whether you belong here or not?"

"Oh, you make me tired," grunted the man on the bed. "I'm Phil, the head day bartender downstairs."

"All right, Phil," said Nick, smiling. "Get up on your feet, where I can look at you, and where you can answer a few questions for me."

"Oh, what's eating you?" growled the bartender. "I ain't been to bed more than an hour. Let me sleep."

Instead of replying, the detective reached out his hand, and, seizing Phil by the shoulder, jerked him from the bed to the floor, stood him on his feet, and then seated him forcibly upon one of the wooden chairs near at hand—so forcibly that his jaws snapped together like the cracking of a nut.